


Was it good for you?

by Spayne



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Killing Eve Week Day 3, Oops, but maybe thats ok, no one comes, they have sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 01:46:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30098400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spayne/pseuds/Spayne
Summary: Where Villanelle learns the mortifying truth that women don't always come, and the less mortifying truth that maybe thats still okKilling Eve week day 3: Morning after
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 78
Kudos: 250
Collections: Killing Eve Week 2021





	Was it good for you?

**Author's Note:**

> So...mixed feelings about the news yesterday I guess, but I churned out this after hearing it so...

You stand outside the hotel room door. Just as you’ve been doing for the last few minutes and continue to do what you have been doing for the six hours before that; contemplating just how badly you’ve fucked this up.

Currently it feels like— a lot. 

It felt like a fuck up when she yelped after you bit her a little too hard, even more so when you leant in for a kiss and came away with a chunk of her hair caught up in your earrings. That was a fuck up.

Panicking afterwards and leaving in the middle of the night? Also a fuck up, and possibly a worse one than your less than stellar performance. It's hard to say, it's been a long time since you worked that hard and still couldn’t make a woman come.

The mortification of it all swamps you again, swiftly followed by a stab of indignance at how unfair it all is. How many irrelevant women have you fucked to the best orgasm of their lives? God, how many men even? And this woman, the only person of any importance, and you can’t get her over the line to a mediocre one? A travesty. An insult to your considerable skills.

Why do bad things always happen to you?

Well. Ok. You aren’t a good person. That could be a reason. You have killed— quite a lot of people. So maybe if your whole life is put into consideration you don’t deserve good things. But looking at it solely in terms of all the good sex that you have provided— aren’t you owed something back?

Your phone buzzes in your pocket.

**Eve:** Have you gone for breakfast? 8:17am

Fuck. 

It vibrates again.

**Eve:** Bring back croissants 8:17am

Huh. Not the reaction you were expecting given she woke up alone after some really shitty sex. Although, maybe that's not fair— it wasn’t shitty per se. It was just not— not what you had in mind. You’d pictured hours of non stop fucking, non stop orgasms, the bed destroyed, sheets beyond salvaging, her face glowing with the flush that comes with amazing sex with the person you lo—

Your phone vibrates again.

**Eve:** Not the chocolate ones 8:18am

Fuck. 

If she thinks you went out for breakfast and you come back empty handed she’ll realise that you left because— God. Why even did you leave? She wasn’t mean about it or anything. Although in a way that might have been better. You cringe at the memory of her hand soft against your face, her gentle kiss and a smile, the whisper in the darkness than she was exhausted, all of that was so much worse than being flat out told that you were doing a shitty job. 

And after all of that you just lay there next to her listening to her sleep as the reality dawned on you of how close you were to what you wanted and how badly you were ruining things. It was too much. You couldn’t stay there, just waiting for her to wake up and pull a face which would tell you everything that you already knew; that after all the chasing and anticipation, you are just a disappointment. 

**Eve:** Also bring coffee 8:19am

**Eve:** And Water 8:19am

Fuck.

You could just— go. You could just turn around and take the stairs back down to the lobby and go. You could pretend this never happened. You could find a woman, any woman, and give her the best sex of her life. This could all just be a distant memory. 

Except—

Except you don't want that. You tried it after you thought she’d died in Rome. It was shit. No. What you want is— you want a do over. You know that if you just tried a little bit harder it would have worked out. You could have—

The hotel room door swings open and Eve stands in front of you in her underwear and the top she’d been wearing yesterday, looking confused.

“Why are you just standing out here?” She asks.

Fuck.

“What? Im not.” You walk past her into the room and she follows you in before flopping down on the bed.

“What did you get?” She asks, face semi buried in the duvet.

“Huh?”

She turns and looks at you.

“For breakfast?”

“Yes. Breakfast. Obviously.” Your hand fumbles for the pockets in your cape and you strike gold. You hold out a handful of fluff covered sweets stolen from her office. Her eyes flicker down to your hand and then back to your eyes.

“Thanks. Er—Is the rest of it—” she pauses, “is it being brought up?”

Fuck.

“No. Erm.” You laugh and flash a winning smile, “It was a funny thing actually, I had bought you lots of croissants, not the chocolate kind, obviously. Erm, yes, and then a dog came— yes, a dog came and took the bag, and I chased it, chased the dog and then the dog got on top of a car and the car drove off, so— that is the reason I have nothing from the breakfast that I went out to buy for you.” 

Fuck.

“You’re saying a dog ate it?” She asks sceptically. 

Fuck.

Once you broke into the French Embassy in Ukraine with no pre planned cover story, killed a junior minister and walked out the front door with a date arranged with one of the translators later that evening. But yeah, sure, a dog stole breakfast then escaped by car. That makes total sense.

You’re starting to feel sweaty. What is the point of spending all your money on beautiful hotel rooms if they can't even get the air con right. And—

“What's happening right now?” She asks, her face carefully blank.

“What do you mean?” You ask with a charming smile.

She frowns. “What is— ” she gestures at you with an airy wave of her hand, “What is— this?”

“What? Nothing!” You laugh, it's too high and comes out oddly breathless. “I am fine! How are you?”

“Honestly? A bit confused.”

This is it. She’s going to end it. You had your shot and you blew it. You should have never turned back on the bridge. You just couldn’t help yourself, you never could, you—

“You’re being weird. Weirder than usual, I mean.”

You laugh again, it sounds strained. “Im fine, Eve. Everything is fine. And whatever you want to do now is fine. No one will get shot, I mean.” You laugh again. “No matter what— no matter what either of us decides no one is going to get shot. Which is fine.”

“Right. You sure seem fine." She pulls a face, "Stop being weird and come over here and talk to me.”

That gives you pause, you were expecting her to take the out, you hover by the desk where you are standing. “Should I— can I take my coat off?”

She looks you over thoughtfully, then nods. You turn your back and begin to undo the bow to give yourself a moment to steel yourself for whatever is coming. Experience whispering in your ear that whatever it is, it can’t be good.

You shuffle up toward the bed and sit with your back to her again, sitting at the foot of the bed whilst you remove your shoes. You turn back to find her laying on the pillows watching you carefully, it makes you feel too exposed and you turn away again. Surely the only thing worse than knowing that she is disappointed is having to hear her say it. 

“Look.” You’re going to just get it out there and deal with it. She can tell you she’s not interested or— whatever. But you can’t sit around and agonise about this any more. “I know last night was— not good. And— it should have been. So—”

“—wait, hold on. What?”

Fuck. She can’t want you to say it again. This is fucking mortifying.

“You know. The— the sex—”

“No I guessed, I meant— Come here, I can't see you if you sit down there and i'm too tired to get up so just— just come up here and talk to me.”

Your stomach twists uncomfortably but you do as she says, awkwardly moving yourself back on the bed till you are laying on the pillows staring at the ceiling. The prospect of having to actually look at her during this too awful to fully contemplate.

“You think last night was bad?” She sounds hesitant, you feel sick.

“Eve, I couldn’t even make you come even once.” You groan at how awful this actually is. “God, it's just so embarrassing—”

“—hang on. You think it was bad because I didn’t come a load of times?” 

“I couldn’t make you come once, Eve. Forget a bunch of times, not even once and—”

She snorts.

Rude.

Then the snort becomes a giggle. Which escalates into a laugh, then she doesn't stop laughing. She is such a dickhead. You turn to look at her, furious, only for all the anger to be knocked out of you at the sight of her on her back laughing with her eyes closed, hair fanned out all around her.

“Don’t laugh! You’re being a real asshole about this.” It lacks any of the anger you were aiming for.

It only makes her laugh harder. “Sorry! Im sorry, but really what were you expecting?”

You turn on your side and watch as she holds back more laughter and wipes an errant tear from the corner of her eye. 

“I don't know— fireworks?”

She snorts again, “Please tell me you did not just say that.”

You sit up, furious again at her for laughing at you. “Hey! Wait, I’m kidding,” She slips a hand around your arm to pull you back down next to her but you hold firm.

“Seriously, Vil. I don’t know about you but before last night I’d had about four hours sleep in almost three days. Last night was never going to be—” She stops and sighs, then tugs lightly on your arm again but you stay sitting facing away from her.

“You didn’t come either right? Did you think that I made it bad because of that?”

You turn to face her incredulously. “No! Of course not, you are— you are everything—and—”

She shrugs a shoulder, “So why would I think about it any differently?”

“Because.” You reply sulkily.

“Because— what?”

“Because I know what i'm doing. I’ve fucked a lot of women, Eve. A lot. I’ve given a lot of orgasms. Like, really. Loads. I mean you were there when one of them thanked me, I get that a lot, like all the time. So I should be able to— for you.” You turn away, embarrassed again.

“Wow. Ok, Romeo. It's a good thing you’re so good at sex because you can’t talk to women for shit.” She laughs again.

“I’m trying, Eve.” Your voice sounds small and you hate it.

She sighs, and tugs again on your arm before adopting a softer tone, “I was only teasing. Come here.” This time you let her pull you back down and she reaches out to stroke your face. “Whether I come or not isn't just about how talented you think you are, it's about how I'm feeling too. Last night, I was tired, and distracted and anxious about what we’re going to do now after— everything. Then going to bed with you, touching you, having you touch me felt good. And then I had a really fucking good sleep. That’s what I think about last night.”

She gently pulls at your jaw and brings your face back toward hers. “Yeah?” You ask, and instantly hate the hesitancy in your voice. This isn't the way you want her to think of you when it comes to this. You want her to see confidence and swagger and fun, not whatever you’re being right now. 

Before you can effectively put the mask back on she’s kissing you. Her mouth is insistent and encouraging and her hand strokes lightly at your hip above your trousers. The nerves and the anxiety of the night before are still there, but less sharp in your mind. You let yourself relax into it and press your hips into hers, remembering how she’d felt beneath your fingers last night, beneath your tongue and—

There’s a sudden shove at your shoulder pushing you away and--

“Oh my god, did you actually leave last night?”

Fuck. You had thought the dog story worked.

“Erm—”

“You asshole! You thought the sex was bad so you were just going to leave?”

“I was embarrassed!” You huff. “I didn’t know if you’d even want me to stick around after—”

You looks at you as if you are stupid.

“Even if I thought last night was shit, why would you think I’d want you to just sneak out? After everything else thats happened did you really think bad sex was going to be the deal breaker?”

You think briefly of Anna and how you held her attention best with your head between her legs, and her hand rough in your hair holding you in place at the end.

“I mean you shot me— and i'm still here?” She interrupts your maudlin traipse back through your memories.

You shrug in response and look away.

“Hey,” Her hand is on your jaw again, forcing you to look at her, “I’m going to give you a tip; if you want to know what I think about something, something to do with sex, just ask me. Ok?”

You nod and, God, you actually feel a bit better. She smiles a little before flopping onto her back and you do the same.

“So—” She says.

“So—” You reply.

“You reckon you’re pretty good at it then?”

You turn onto your side to look at her and nod. She snorts a laugh and turns onto her side too. Her gaze flickers between your face, your tits and back to your eyes. This bit you know, so you bite your lip and blink slowly and enjoy as she flushes and raises her eyebrows in challenge, “Go on then, shoot your shot.”

It makes you laugh. When you’d pictured sex with her, you hadn’t really imagined much laughter. Maybe that was a mistake. Rather than breaking the tension, it's just making things feel— fun. That’s what you liked most about her to start with before Paris, before Rome, the chasing, the game, all of it was fun. Why should this be any different?

So you pull her closer. Kiss her everywhere you’ve ever fantasised about, let her touch you in ways you didn’t even know you wanted. And at the end when she leans over you with a lazy smile tugging at her mouth and asks, “Was that ok?”

You grin, and tell her, “Fireworks.”

**Author's Note:**

> The moral of the story is: if no one comes - chill! If you both like each other, it'll prob still be ok.


End file.
